Beyond Hope's Valley: A Big Sky Novel (5 page)

"Then there is Bishop Troyer's daughter, Nancy. She married an Amish-Mennonite boy and broke her dat's heart. To consider one of the bishop's own daughters to be Beachy Amish now—that's what they call those Amish-Mennonites, you know. What a shame."

Marianna fidgeted and bit her lower lip. Her whole life her aunt's home had been a favorite place to visit. She'd come to cook and to can. She'd come to do crafts and borrow books from her aunt's library. She remembered her aunt had always been up-to-date with everything happening in their community, and she used to find that interesting, but now . . . Aunt Ida's words were like bags of feed pressing on her chest. Marianna's breaths were hard to take in. The words weighed heavy on her mind.

Marianna considered those who her aunt spread the "news" about. How was the young woman, just married, dealing with being shunned? Months ago, Marianna would have listened to her aunt and would have agreed in horror, but now? The Beachy Amish were still plain—just a bit more liberal. She'd heard the Beachy Amish read the Pennsylvania Dutch version of the Bible. This was unacceptable for those in their own community who only allowed scriptures in High German to be read in their church and their homes.

Marianna wiggled in her seat. She shifted from side to side as if sitting on tacks. How would her aunt feel knowing an English Bible sat in her suitcase? Would she be asked to stay somewhere else, or even worse, treated as if she weren't worthy of her aunt's attention?

Aunt Ida clamored on, and Marianna's mind drifted back to the events since she'd been in Indiana—first the Englisch driver who seemed to know her. Then the way her aunt treated her brother. Now this.

Please, let tomorrow hold no more unpleasant surprises.

"Did you hear me, child?" Aunt Ida leaned closer in her chair until her knees almost touched Marianna's.

Marianna refocused her thoughts. "
No
, I'm sorry. I think the lack of sleep on the train is getting to me."

"I said that if you hear any rumors about Aaron Zook you needn't let them worry you. Just people talking."

Marianna straightened in her seat. "Rumors?" What did Aunt Ida mean? He'd been with Marianna in Montana for the last six weeks. Whatever could have carried so far or lasted so long?

"Like what?"

"Do you think I'm gonna throw kindling on the fire of their words?" Her aunt clucked her tongue. "I'm not one to spread vicious talk like that. It's talk—that's all it is. Jest enjoy seeing that house Aaron's built for you. He's a good man he is . . . no matter what people are saying."

And just what
were
they saying?

A shaft of dread bore through her, and for a moment she considered walking out that door and catching the first train back to Montana. But she knew, all too well, that running away from her problems was never the answer.

If only she knew what, exactly, the problems were.

Ben sat on the leather sofa in Roy's media room and pressed his back deeper into the cushion. He'd been enjoying dinner at the West Kootenai Kraft and Grocery when he'd gotten a call from Roy on his cell. Roy had asked him to come over right away. Ben had finished off his roast beef and potatoes then denied a piece of peanut butter pie.

After driving the hour down to Kalispell, Ben wasn't disappointed. The news
was
big.

A smile lit Roy's face. "Your song hit the charts. You've got interview requests from
Entertainment Tonight
and
Country Music Magazine
. The record label wants you to go on tour. They're talking the biggest cities, L.A., New York, Chicago. Twenty-six venues to start. Then back to L.A. to cut another record. A million musicians would dream of such a thing."

Ben waited for the surge of excitement, but it didn't come. So why wasn't he happier? This, of all things, should defrost the numbness inside after Marianna's leaving.

Or Marianna's running.
Away from him. From his feelings for her.

And hers for him.

Ben nodded and smiled. He tried to act happy for Roy's sake, but his excitement was dampened by the fact that the song's success wasn't appreciated by the one person who mattered. He'd written it for Marianna. Had she even heard the song? He doubted it. The Amish didn't listen to music, and she tried her best to follow the rules. Of course, she shouldn't need to hear the song to know his heart.

Roy rose from the sofa and strode to the bar to pour himself a drink. "So what do you think?"

Ben covered his face with his hands. His cheeks grew hot. His mind raced. The room seemed to spin. Like most musicians, he loved being in front of the crowd, feeling the pulse of a live event and the energy in the room. Yet . . .

He knew the temptations he would face while on the road. They'd gotten to him the last time, taken him to dark places, painful places. He lowered his hands and looked at Roy.

Roy laughed. "Speechless, I know. The money you'll make will set you up for years to come—minus my cut."

Ben pictured a cabin, a house. He could build his own place. Create a home, just like in his song. Yet he tried to picture the man he used to be on stage and shook his head.

That was then, this is now. I'll make different decisions. Better ones. I care about, and for, different things. I'm a different person.

God had allowed this to happen. Maybe there was a greater plan for Ben's life than he imagined. He sat a little straighter. "You know, this song hit it big for a reason. And that is what I want . . . to impact lives. If the venues are big, and if I can share what God has done—"

"Great. Yeah, there's always that." Roy rose and slapped his hands on the front of his thighs. "We have a lot to do. Don't start counting your converts before they kneel." He smirked. "We need to get to L.A. as soon as possible. Think you can pack tonight?"

Ben scratched the back of his head. "Sure. It shouldn't take too long." He wilted back into the sofa. Was this really happening?

Roy tossed an envelope onto Ben's lap. "Great."

Ben opened it. Two printed Internet confirmations slid out. One was a one-way ticket to L.A. for 7:30 a.m. the next day, leaving out of Glacier International Airport. The other a two-week reservation for the Sunset Tower, Hollywood.

"We'll be assembling a band, planning the tour, and rehearsing. Plan for long days and little sleep."

Ben swallowed and stood. "I've done this before."

Roy rose and extended his hand.

Ben took it, and Roy pumped it with a squeeze. "Congratulations. It's what we've been waiting for. I suppose you living like a hermit up in those mountains worked. Keep doing what you're doing. Keep those songs coming."

"Easier said than done." Ben's head felt like lead. "I'm afraid to say, Roy, I've lost my muse."

Dear Annie, Sarah, Edgar, and Jenny (and all the dozens of customers I'm sure you'll share my words with),

I've made it to Indiana. Seemed strange at first seeing so bare a horizon. The hills I used to love seem so small now. Nothing, I suppose, compares with Montana's grandeur. There's less snow here, so that's different too. It might take me some time to adjust. And I'll have to consider another means of exercise rather than stomping through tall snow drifts walking to work.

I know you all were concerned, but Aaron did well on the trip, considering. I had to convince him to take a pain pill once or twice. Stubborn men, they never like to let on a thing bothers them.

We've yet to set a date for our wedding. The typical month for Amish weddings is November, after the harvest is in. But I'd hate to wait a year. Whether we wait that long or choose a closer time I'll let you know. Unlike what I saw done in the West Kootenai with the Englisch, Amish do not plan weddings months in advance. When both parents agree the time is right we choose a day a few weeks prior. We also don't design formal invitations. Rather, we call on our friends and let them know of the event—we even call on those who we'll count on to help with the preparations and the food.

I know Annie mentioned hosting a reception in Montana after the fact. That is mighty kind. I'll have to confer with Aaron, but I have to say the minutes could not pass faster until I return. I miss the customers yet and all of you, and even though Aunt Ida prepared a hearty meal tonight, at the end I craved a piece of Sarah's peanut butter pie.

Heavens! You don't want to read a letter filled of my wishes and wants, but I'm afraid that's what I've done. I'll write again soon and tell you more exciting happenings. Tomorrow Aaron's taking me to see the house he's built. I'm anxious to see his home, or rather our home.

Say good night to the pines and stars for me.

Marianna

M
arianna sank onto the double bed, her eyes moving to the bedroom window, which overlooked an idyllic farm scene. She'd finished the promised letter to her Montana friends and then slipped between the covers.

This was the bed Aunt Ida had slept in as a child with two of her sisters. Marianna pulled off her stockings and sighed. An unfamiliar uneasiness came over her again—she just hoped her friends couldn't tell from her letter.

She'd only been here a few hours and already her aunt had talked about nearly everyone in town—everyone but Aaron. Why of all things did her aunt have to consider that bit of news "a rumor"? How would she ever be able to sleep tonight not knowing what people were saying about him? Because the truth was if they were talking about Aaron, she no doubt was part of their conversation, too.

A small smile touched her lips. Levi had been so gracious—a stark contrast to the way Aunt Ida had treated him. He was right. She'd had no one to smooth the rough edges. Thank goodness her brother reminded her of that, for that kept anger and frustration from building. Growing up, Ida had no doubt dreamed of a husband, kids, and a home of her own, yet here she was living alone in her parents' place. Near enough to enjoy her family members—and to be reminded what she was missing. Though Ida got out often and was a part of more quilting circles than anyone else in their county, none of that changed the fact that she lived alone, spent most of her days alone.